


Corrupted

by stjarna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Conflict, F/M, Father Figures, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-/During Season 4, Relationship Problems, Resolution, Some gory descriptions (that I didn't even know I could write), Transhumanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7898965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired in part by @MashiarasDream. Following the Season 3 finale, we talked about how we felt that Radcliffe might be bad news for our science team; how he might end up ‘corrupting’ them (or one of them). In my mind, Fitz seemed like the more likely target. While it would be desirable to write a longer story that clearly shows the development of a possible conflict between Simmons and Fitz, as well as its resolution, what popped into my mind immediately was this  story that basically focuses on the resolution and—for the most part—leaves it up to the reader to imagine what happened prior to it. I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MashiarasDream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream/gifts).



“How could you _do_ this? _Why_ would you do this?” She is furious. Two months at the Academy helping out Weaver with a project, two months away from him, two months of missing him, and she returns to this? She looks at his left forearm where numbers and words shimmer through what used to be his skin.

“What? It’s basically the same tech I used for Coulson’s arm. Just more advanced. Improved,” he explains.

“Yes, but Coulson’s arm is entirely _artificial_ ,” she exclaims, “You’ve just replaced part of a _perfectly healthy_ limb with tech that could _easily_ have been incorporated into an external device. This is going too far, Fitz!”

“Anon had similar tech implanted. So does Holden,” he responds defensively, “I’m doing this to protect us, Jemma. I’ve had enough of others trying to kill us on a daily basis. This kind of tech can help us, safe us, _improve_ us. I’m not going to have anyone separate us again, not humans, not inhumans, not death.”

“You cannot cheat death,” Jemma replies. It seems like they’ve had the same discussion over and over again for months, and it keeps escalating. She’s tired of it. So tired.

“Yes, you can,” he responds, “Science can do that. Transhumanism can do that. _We_ can do that. Holden and I have been pitching some ideas and he agrees that…”

“Oh, shut up about Radcliffe and Transhumanism already,” she interrupts him, unable to keep months of built-up frustration and anxiety in any long, “This is _not_ the science we’ve been doing, Fitz. These are _not_ the ideas and ideals _we’ve_ been working towards all our lives. These are _his_ ideas and they’re going too far. You _know_ they are going too far. You used to say it yourself. _Why_ do you listen to Radcliffe? _Why_ are you trying so hard to please him?”

“We’re working together. Collaborating. He’s challenging me to think outside the box.”

“No, Fitz,” she interjects, “Working together, collaborating, challenging each other. That’s what _we_ used to do. You’re following _him_ like a blind puppy. He’s using you for his own interests. He’s having _you_ built the tech, because he knows he would _never_ be able to construct anything like it. He’s using you and I don’t understand why you let him. What is it about him that makes you change so much from who I know you are? What is it about him that makes you…”

“ _Shut up!_ _Just shut up, Jemma_ ,” he yells angrily, “You have _no_ idea what it’s like. You’ve _always_ had it all! You _never_ had to deal with that kind of void. All my life. All my _bloody_ life! And now, I feel like I’m _finally_ getting a glimpse of what it could have been like to have it all. To have a father to _inspire_ me, to _challenge_ me. Holden’s the father I never had.”

His words echo through the room. Then silence settles as they stare at each other.

“Ever since I met you,” she finally says sternly, tears forming in her eyes, “you told me about your mum. With _pride_. How she raised you all by herself, after your father left her when she was pregnant, because having a family was just not convenient for him. You told me how she did _everything_ for you; _everything_ to support you, _everything_ to allow you to follow your passion. You always said you didn’t need a father. You always said she was enough. I can’t believe you would…”

“Just because she did everything she could. Just because she was enough, doesn’t mean I didn’t long for more.”

“You’re wrong, Fitz. Holden is not the father you _never_ had,” she takes a deep breath, “He is the father you _had_. Don’t you see that? He’s _exactly_ like your father. Someone who will drop you the second things get difficult, the second a better opportunity comes along.”

“You know _nothing_ about my father _or_ Holden!”

“I know _exactly_ as much about your father as you do,” she replies angrily, her loud voice resonating through the empty lab, “I know _everything_ your mum told you. And if I’ve learned something about your mum in the _decade_ since I met her, it’s that she is no liar. She _never_ hid anything from you. She was honest. You have _no_ reason not to trust what she told you about him, and you know it! And you _know_ that Radcliffe is no different. You _know_ he changes his allegiances as it suits him. He may pretend to care about you, because he’s exploiting your talents, but you _know_ all he cares about is himself, _his_ life, _his_ career. It’s all about _him_. You’re better than that! Stop trying to hunt the ghost of a father figure you don’t need. Stop trying to please him. You’re letting him cloud your judgment with his false promises of safety, with his fake fatherly encouragement, with his manipulative ideas of everlasting life and Transhumanism. You say you’re doing all of this to _protect_ us. Don’t you realize that instead of _saving us_ , you’re _losing us_ , Fitz? You’re losing what we have,” she pauses, “And the worst thing is that I’m not even sure that you care! I’m scared that it’s too late, and I’ve lost you already, as a scientist, as a friend, as a partner. That I’ve lost you and that my words are bouncing off you.”

She can’t take it anymore. Unwilling to let him see her tears, she turns around and storms out of the lab.


	2. Chapter 2

“Jemma,” he whispers as her shadow disappears around the corner. He doesn’t follow her. Just stands rooted to the spot, dumbfounded. Her words, her speech are echoing through his mind. His brain is processing what she said, all her arguments. He thinks he can actually feel the synapses firing. He looks down at his forearm. Letters, numbers, lines flicker before his eyes through the translucent artificial skin. The images before him begin to blur as his eyes glaze over, as he stares at a single point in time and space while his mind repeats what she said over and over again. A minute passes that feels like hours. Staring, words echoing in his brain, flickering lights embedded in his body. His breathing quickens. He blinks. Once. Twice. His eyes start wandering from his forearm to the empty lab, to the door through which she left, to his workbench, to his equipment, to the scalpel.

He grabs it. He looks from the scalpel to his arm. Back and forth. Back and forth. Then he pushes his arm onto the workbench. His hand forms a fist as he lowers the scalpel, as the sharp blade touches his skin. A single drop of blood appears as the scalpel slowly penetrates his flesh. He clenches his fist tighter and makes several incisions along the outside of the implant. He clenches his jaw, takes deep breaths, suppresses any sound, any moan, any scream that wants to escape his lips, determined not to let the hand holding the scalpel shake from the pain, determined to hold his left forearm in place. He slides the scalpel underneath the thin tech implant, slowly lifts it off his forearm and lets it fall onto the workbench. He drops the scalpel to the floor, breathing heavily, a slight ringing in his ears as he looks down onto the bloody, flat, rectangular gap in his arm. He tries to steady his breathing. He knows the adrenaline rushing through his body won’t let him pass out. Not now. He stares at the gaping wound. Stares at what he did. Instinctively, he presses his right hand on the wound. Pain shoots down his arm, into his brain. He gasps, moans, but the pain doesn’t stop him, doesn’t cloud his judgment. He’s thinking more clearly than he has in weeks. He takes in a few more deep breaths, then rushes out the room and down the hallway. The blood dripping from his arm leaves a thin dotted trail.


	3. Chapter 3

He turns a corner and bumps into Radcliffe.

“Fitz, my boy,” Radcliffe exclaims excitedly, “just the man I was looking for. I’ve been thinking and I’ve had this idea for an artificial ear. Enhanced hearing capabilities and sonar like a bat. It’s really quite brilliant, I believe. Just think of the possibilities. Let’s head to the lab, shall we?”

Sweat is forming on Fitz’s forehead, his eyes are getting slightly glassy from the pain in his arm. He stares at Radcliffe, listens to his words. The final command to him, his boy, his little puppy dog: _Let’s head to the lab, shall we?_

“No,” he mutters.

“Excuse me?” Radcliffe responds. His eyes wander to Fitz’s arm, “Goodness, gracious! What have you done with the arm implant?”

Fitz’s brain processes Radcliffe’s words. _Not: You’re bleeding. How can I help? The implant is what he cares about; the tech, the science, his career. Jemma was right._

Fitz ignores Radcliffe’s question, “We’re done, Holden. Transhumanism, implanting tech in perfectly healthy people, replacing perfectly healthy body parts. Maybe that’s your kind of science, but it isn’t mine. There’s a limit to what should be done. How far science should go. There’s something about you that made me forget about my ideals, about what kind of scientist I am. But no more. We’re done. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. The price is too high. Do what you want. I won’t be a part of it anymore.”

“Well, that’s rather disappointing,” Radcliffe replies confused, “I thought our collaboration was very fruitful. We could have made history together. Could have been unstoppable. Achieve eternal life. The ultimate evolutionary step! We’re such a fantastic team, Fitz. You’re like a son to me; a son I never even knew I wanted.”

“That’s bullshit,” Fitz replies coldly, “You didn’t work with me because I’m like a son to you. You used me because you know you don’t have the skills to make your ideas reality. That’s why you’ve kept me around. Buttered me up. Good luck finding a new puppy dog. And even if _I’m_ like the son you never knew you wanted—unfortunately for you— _you’re_ like the father I never needed”

“Well, these are rather hurtful things to say,” Radcliffe responds.

“Oh, really?” Fitz replies sarcastically, “Yes, you look truly shook up about it.”

“I was trying to help you protect yourself, protect Jemma! This is a dangerous world. The kind of tech we build, the kind of improvements we make, could save you.”

“You know you’re lying,” Fitz says, “You weren’t trying to help me or Jemma. You were trying to help yourself, as usual. And if this was some kind of attempt to threaten me or Jemma: You know that won’t work. You know you’re too much of a coward and you _know_ who you would be up against. So, step aside, and let me be, and move on to greener transhuman pastures.”

Radcliffe doesn’t respond. He merely shrugs his shoulders, turns sideways, and looks to the ground. Fitz takes a deep breath and continues rushing down the hallway, leaving behind nothing but a small bloody puddle in front of the confused, defeated, egocentric Scotsman.


	4. Chapter 4

She has been trying to distract herself ever since she stormed out of the lab; grabbed her tablet to catch up on some research and was trying to focus on an article, but anger and adrenaline were still rushing through her body. She had read the same sentence over and over and yet had no idea what it said. Instead her mind keeps wandering back to what had happened at the lab. She didn’t want to lose him, but he had changed so much.

A series of loud knocks pulls her abruptly back into reality.

“Jemma?” she hears his voice through the door.

She takes a deep breath and sighs. Slowly she gets up from her chair. Another series of knocks, “Jemma, please, open up.” She walks to the door. Her hand hesitates before it grabs the handle and pulls the door open.

She immediately notices the bloodstains on her door where he had been knocking. Her heart stops for a moment as her eyes wander from the door to him. She sees him pressing down his right hand on a gaping wound on his left forearm. The blood is dripping to the floor.

“What on earth…” she mumbles, staring at his arm.

“I cut it out, Jemma,” he tries to explain, “I realized…” but she immediately interrupts him, “Have you _completely_ lost your mind?” she yells and grabs his arm, forcing him to remove the hand covering his wound. He winces, but she ignores it, “You cut it out _yourself_?” she asks in disbelief, “What did you use? A chainsaw?”

“I just…”

“Infirmary!” she dictates, “ _Now!_ ”

“Jemma, please let me…”

“No!” she says firmly with eyes like daggers staring into his conscious, her index finger pointing at his face, “You won’t say _anything_ right now. _Nothing_! Not. A. Word! I’m too furious. I’m not willing to listen to _anything_ you have to say right now. Not until we’ve cleaned up this mess you’ve made!”

She quickly disappears into her room and grabs a fresh towel from her closet. She returns to him and presses it onto his wound. He groans.

“Hold this down!” she instructs him, too angry to show sympathy for his pain. Quietly he places his hand onto the towel, looking at her with pleading eyes.

“Now let’s go,” she says as she grabs his arm and drags him along the corridor, “I can’t believe you would be so stupid. Cutting it out yourself. Just like that. I assume at the lab? Right at your workbench? Was the knife you used at least sterile? Seriously, Fitz!”

She continues to let out her frustration on the entire way to the infirmary, and he complies with her command to be silent.

 

* * *

 

“Sit!” her stern tone doesn’t change when they get to the infirmary. She washes her hands thoroughly, puts on gloves, and prepares a medical kit. She pushes a chair in front of him with her foot, sits down, and gestures with her head towards his arm. Fitz removes his hand from the towel, which she then lifts carefully off the wound. She takes a deep breath and lets out a frustrated grunt. She looks at him and shakes her head; dark anger in her eyes. Carefully she cleans the gaping wound, debrides it, treats it, and places artificial skin over it before bandaging it up. She doesn’t say a word and neither does he. She administers antibiotics. Finally, she removes her gloves and places them on the tray next to her. She pauses for a moment, staring at her hand holding the gloves. She lets go off them and looks back at him. She is silent, searching his eyes, analyzing his facial expressions. She sees pain, fear, regret, sadness. The adrenaline in her body slowly fades and is replaced by a flood of emotions. Tears rush to her eyes. She closes her eyes and holds her breath. Then she looks at him again. She senses his anticipation. She forces her body to relax. Her stern look softens.

“Ok,” she finally says calmly, “Now you can talk.”


	5. Chapter 5

Hope and relief rush through him.

“Everything you said was true,” he begins, “I’m sorry, Jemma. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately. I’m sorry for what I said about my mum. I’m sorry about distancing myself from you. I’m sorry for taking our science in a dangerous direction.”

He pauses.

“I _still_ believe that some of the transhuman ideas have their merits,” he continues, “but you were right, I was going too far. I’ve realized it and I’ve stopped. I told Holden he can’t count on me any longer. That he’ll have to find a new puppy dog.”

Her mouth twitches, a faint smile flashes across her face at his words.

“I don’t want to lose you, Jemma,” he pleads, “Science has always been the most important thing for us, _our_ kind of science. And it’s still important. It will _always_ be important, but things have changed. _You_ matter more to me than anything else. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose _us_.”

She listens to him, quietly, doesn’t say a word. Her face doesn’t give away her thoughts, and he wishes that he could _actually_ read her mind like people kept thinking he could.

“I really fucked up, didn’t I?” he says sadly, tears in his eyes.

She looks at him and sighs. “Well, it might leave a scar,” she finally says and gestures at his bandaged arm, but he knows she’s not just talking about his arm.

“Am I too late?” he ponders. His heart is racing as fear floods his body. He’s afraid of her answer and yet needs to hear it. The seconds it takes her to reply feel like an eternity.

“I don’t know,” she states matter-of-factly, “I hope not.”

“What can I do?”

She closes her eyes and exhales sharply, keeps him waiting for an answer.

“Well. For _starters_ , you can clean up the bloody mess you left behind everywhere.”

Her look is soft when she adds, “Then maybe we can talk some more… in our room.”

Her answer makes him hopeful.

“So, it’s still _our_ room?”

She smiles, rolls her eyes, and jokes, “Maybe if you bring dinner.”

He returns the smile, but can’t hide remains of sadness and fear.

His bandaged arm is still lying on the armrest of the medical chair. She reaches for it and places her right hand into his left. Her other hand cups his face and her thumb gently caresses his cheek. The gentle touch sends shivers down his spine, yet also fills him with warmth. She looks into his eyes and for a moment he loses himself in hers. The dark anger he saw in them earlier has disappeared, and instead he sees kindness and love. His own eyes begin to flutter as he is trying to hold back tears.

She smiles shyly. “We may have a lot of things to work out, Fitz, but we’ve had our ups and downs before, and we’ve always found a way to work through them.”

She pauses.

“So, rest assured that I’m not willing to give up on us!”

Slowly she leans in and kisses him, nothing more than her lips softly touching his. She pulls back a little, just enough to allow his eyes to focus on hers again and whispers, “I love you, Fitz.”

A lonely teardrop rolls down his cheek. He reaches for her face with his free hand, lets his fingers play with her hair. Emotions have taken over his body. He wants to tell her so much more, but “Thank you,” is all he can get out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. As I said in the summary, it might be nice to have a longer fanfic that includes the story leading up to what is described here, as well as maybe what's yet to come (Would Radcliffe really give up so easily, for example, no matter how much of a coward he seems to be?). Who knows, maybe I'll rework, revise, and expand this fanfic at some point. But for now, I wanted to get this story about before Season 4 premiers and my storyline possibly becomes completely obsolete ;)


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